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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482438">Five Things You Can See</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency'>AShortWalkToDelinquency</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Dissociation, Hopeful Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Requited Love, Suicidal Thoughts, Unplanned Pregnancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:16:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,950</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28482438</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AShortWalkToDelinquency/pseuds/AShortWalkToDelinquency</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His feet lead him to his bed without thought, a comforting numbness sinking into his bones as hands that don't feel like his own pull back the covers. He doesn't feel the descent as he collapses onto the plush mattress. Doesn't feel himself curling up into a tight ball as if he could somehow make himself small enough to disappear. </p>
<p>He doesn't feel much of anything.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Malcolm Bright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Five Things You Can See</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, I wrote most of this back in April and it's just been sitting in my documents, staring at me. It's not as happy as my usual mpreg stories, but it does still have a happy ending (because that's what our boys deserve).</p>
<p>There are brief mentions of suicidal thoughts, so if that's triggering for you, you may want to skip this one. Happier mpreg stories will be coming soon.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm looks down in disbelief, blinking rapidly, his third positive pregnancy test staring back at him. The little <b>+</b> blazes like a flashing neon sign and he can't seem to tear his eyes away. He's frozen in place, standing in the bathroom in nothing but his boxer briefs, staring at the stick as a roaring static fills his mind and his ears and thrums through his body. At this point, he can't even formulate a coherent thought as to why this can't be happening, why it's a terrible idea, why he is not qualified to take care of another human being when he's barely able to manage taking care of himself most days. Those thoughts will come crashing in soon enough. At this point, the world just fades out from around him until all that's left is the harmless little plus sign that's about to dismantle his life, brick by carefully placed brick.</p>
<p>Time dissolves into nothing as he stands there, stuck in a liminal state, not entirely conscious. Shivers rip through his body until his muscles ache but he can't be sure if it's from standing nearly naked on the cold tile for god knows how long, or if it's the stress of what the plastic stick in between his fingers is screaming at him. With trembling hands, he drops it to join the other two positive tests in the bottom of the trash can, nestled between crumpled tissues and an empty pot of shaving cream.</p>
<p>His feet lead him to his bed without thought, a comforting numbness sinking into his bones as hands that don't feel like his own pull back the covers. He doesn't feel the descent as he collapses onto the plush mattress. Doesn't feel himself curling up into a tight ball as if he could somehow make himself small enough to disappear.</p>
<p>He doesn't feel much of anything.</p>
<p>Except the tears.</p>
<p>He feels their unmistakable warmth as they flow fast and steady down his face, his only anchor to a world he thought he knew.</p>
<p>~~~</p>
<p>Time passes slowly. Or quickly. He's not quite sure. It's several hours later that the buzz of his phone on his nightstand startles him from the half-awake-half-asleep state he's been floating in, obsessing over what a terrible father he'll be and how his carelessness has probably just destroyed the only relationship in his life that really matters. He doesn't answer. Doesn't want to talk to anyone. Really, he doesn't want to do anything except lay in bed and hope that the whole morning has been just another night terror that's going to disappear into blurry lines and hazy feelings when he opens his eyes.</p>
<p>When the buzzing finally stops, he huffs out a ragged breath and buries his face deeper into the pillowcase, damp with the tears that are somehow still falling, trying to wipe them away. His face is itchy and sore where the tears have left salty tracks on his skin, but he doesn't have the energy or the interest to get out of bed and do something about it.</p>
<p>But just as he's settling back into his nihilistic state of oblivion, his phone begins to buzz again, a slow dance across his night table that he wishes would just stop. A part of him wants to reach over and shut the damn thing off. A much bigger part doesn't care enough to put in the effort. He lets it buzz until the voicemail kicks in and it falls blessedly silent.</p>
<p>It's less than a minute this time before it starts again.</p>
<p>It takes more energy than he cares to admit, but by the third ring he manages to toss out a hand and fumble around for the godforsaken phone that refuses to shut up.</p>
<p>He shouldn't be surprised when he finds Gil's name flashing up at him from the screen, but all at once it's just too much.</p>
<p>Everything begins to swell and surge in his chest before it breaks through his mouth, an animalistic howl that's ripped from the depths of his soul. He winds up and throws the phone with every ounce of his strength, breaking it into a thousand tiny pieces that perfectly mirror the shattered fragments of his life. It's satisfying for maybe half a second, but the relief is consumed by the scream that's still tearing its way out of him. He can't stop it. The pressure that's been building for the last few hours explodes all at once, scraping his throat raw and leaving his lungs aching.</p>
<p>He only stops when he runs out of air.</p>
<p>This thing between him and Gil, it's...casual. Superficial. While they haven't implicitly spoken about their relationship, Gil's never expressed any real interest in it being anything more than the occasional night together, and Malcolm… Well, Malcolm is willing to take whatever the man is willing to offer. He's painfully aware of just how broken he is and would never expect someone like Gil to want anything serious with him. Becoming pregnant feels like he's set a trap, like he's trying to force Gil into something more, something the older man clearly doesn't want.</p>
<p>Beyond that, he's wildly unequipped to be a parent. He can barely make it through a day without experiencing some sort of hallucination, and it's only on the good days that he recognizes it's not real before he does something stupid. He's dependent on a cocktail of drugs just to keep him functional, and he has his doubts whether he's responsible enough to make sure they all get locked up, stored away safe from curious hands. He sleeps restrained to his bed so he doesn't wander off or hurt himself in the middle of the night. God only knows what would happen if there was a baby in the house and he somehow got free of his restraints. If he ever hurt an innocent child...</p>
<p>He can't do this. He can't.</p>
<p>He hauls himself out of bed and grabs the first items of clothing he comes across — a pair of old sweats and a long sleeved t-shirt. He dresses hastily then slips on a pair of socks and sneakers and is out the door before he has a chance to think. As a matter of fact, that's exactly what he's actively trying to avoid.</p>
<p>He practically sprints down the flights of stairs, barely breaking his momentum enough to throw open the heavy door at the bottom. He forces himself to slow down long enough to close the door behind him and then he hits the ground running.</p>
<p>He doesn't know where he's going. He doesn't care. The monotonous sound of his feet slapping the sidewalk, the puff of his breath coming faster and faster, his heart pounding in his chest, it all helps to clear his mind and let him forget. He has to focus on his footing. Focus on avoiding pedestrians. Focus on not getting hit as he's crossing against the traffic lights because he can't stop and wait for a damned walk signal. He can't, because if he does, then everything that he's trying not to think about will catch up and overtake him.</p>
<p>And so he runs.</p>
<p>He runs until his legs are shaking and his lungs are burning and he can't possibly run any more, and still he keeps going. There comes a point, though, where his body can't possibly take the strain and he finally has to give in. He doubles over, bending himself nearly in half with his hands on his knees, gasping for air that doesn't seem to reach his lungs.</p>
<p>Once he's stopped, his legs can't seem to support him and he crumples to the ground, his back pressed up against the cold concrete barrier that helps to break his fall. It feels like dying. His entire body trembles while his chest heaves, lungs burning and turn to ash inside of him.</p>
<p>His airway is tight and compressed and squeezing out a horrible wheezing sound that won't go away whether he hunches forward or leans back against the concrete block. The tremors that rack his body get worse by the second and a fleeting thought at the back of his mind recognizes that he's having a panic attack, but there's nothing he can do to stop it. He whimpers as black dots start to cloud his vision. He's pretty sure he's going to pass out soon, but somehow, through the haze of panic, he grasps onto one thought.</p>
<p>Gil.</p>
<p>He pictures Gil's hand lightly squeezing the back of his neck — a comforting gesture Gil's perfected over the last two decades — and he manages a tiny, rasping breath. He thinks of Gil's strong arms wrapped tightly around him as they lay in bed and manages another. He thinks of the warmth that he always feels when Gil tells him he's done well, and he manages a third.</p>
<p>It takes several minutes but his breath gradually slows, breaking down into shuddering pants as he wraps his arms around his legs and presses his head hard into his knees, letting the pressure ground him in the present.</p>
<p>A young woman, clearly out for a jog, judging by her attire, stops a few feet away from Malcolm, not getting close enough for contact but calling out, "Sir? Are you alright? Do you need me to call an ambulance?"</p>
<p>Malcolm steel's himself to look up at the good samaritan, eyes puffy and red, cheeks blotchy from crying.</p>
<p>"I'm fine," he pants, "thank you."</p>
<p>Even to his own ears it's an obvious lie. The woman hesitates a moment but then pops her earbuds back in and continues her run, looking back once over her shoulder as she jogs away.</p>
<p>Malcolm drops his head back to his knees. He needs to get his shit together before someone really <em>does</em> call him an ambulance. He gives himself two minutes — one hundred and twenty carefully counted Mississippi's — before he pushes himself to his feet, holding onto the concrete barrier at his back to steady himself as the tremors throughout his body almost knock him straight back to the ground.</p>
<p>He's not entirely sure what he should do.</p>
<p>Now that he's regained at least some of his composure, he finally looks around to see where he is, where his feet carried him in his hurry to outrun his spiraling thoughts. The water is just behind him, steadily flowing and looking peaceful in a way that he can't even grasp right now. Angling himself to his left, he sees the great arches of the George Washington bridge looming not far from where he's standing.</p>
<p>He ran farther than he'd expected.</p>
<p>It's an urge he can't ignore. He walks on wobbly legs, his heart still pounding too hard in his chest as he's pulled inexorably forward. It's not long at all before he's on the bridge, walking along with other pedestrians as they make their way across the massive suspension bridge. He's hardly aware of his surroundings, doesn't hear the traffic as it races by, doesn't heed the occasional shout of "watch it buddy!" from angry cyclists as he stumbles along.</p>
<p>His shoulders and jaw are tense with anxiety and a tiny voice in the back of his mind, flitting by like a hummingbird, whispers <em>it's not good for the baby</em>, and he nearly hurls.</p>
<p>Not good for the baby that he can never be trusted with. He hears his father's voice in his head, <em>we're the same</em>, and his stomach churns as he thinks about bringing a child into the world to inherit that legacy.</p>
<p>In stark contrast to his rapidly-darkening thoughts, the sun shines bright and high in the sky, lending an unexpected warmth to the otherwise chilly day as it beats down on his sweat-soaked body and prickles at the skin on his face. The reflection off the water is nearly blinding but he stops and leans up against the railing, watching the rippling flow of the river. It's almost hypnotic. There's a tranquility that seems to soothe his frayed nerves and works to calm his racing heart.</p>
<p>He knows it's not healthy, and he would never admit it to Gabrielle, but sometimes, when the fear takes over and the night terrors become unbearable and he hasn't slept in days, when the anxiety intensifies and the meds don't seem to help, the only thing that keeps him sane is the thought that it can be over if he <em>really</em> wants it to be. It's not necessarily that he wants to do it, but the knowledge that he <em>can</em>, that he has control of at least that one thing, is enough to get him through.</p>
<p>And so he stands at the railing with his hands gripping so tight that his fingers ache against the cold metal. He watches the water below and thinks how he could end it all right now. How he could stop the pain and the fear that he's been carrying with him for the last twenty years. How he could lose himself in the depths of the water, the current carrying him away from his father, from the repressed memories that endlessly torment him, from Gil.</p>
<p>He won't do it. Especially now when it's not just his life on the line. Not when there's a part of Gil inside of him that he would be murdering, too.</p>
<p>It's the first time he thinks of it that way, that it's a part of Gil growing inside of him, not just the disastrous continuation of the Whitly line. He lets out a broken sob and drops his head to the railing as a fresh wave of tears streak down his face. He only stays there a second, just long enough to suck in an almost full breath, and then he straightens up and turns on his heel, moving quickly back the way he came. He's vaguely aware of the looks he's getting from other pedestrians but he honestly doesn't care.</p>
<p>It's not until he's off the bridge, though, that he considers just how far from home he is. He doesn't have a phone or his wallet, but he knows there's no way he can make it back on foot. He's shaking and exhausted and so mentally wrung out that he's not entirely sure how he's still upright.</p>
<p>The sweat that's soaked through his clothes has dried in the cool breeze and he can't stop shivering as he tries to flag down a cab. A couple go by without stopping, drivers eyeing him wearily as they slow down before deciding they're not getting a fare from him and speed along once again, until eventually one stops and he lowers himself into the backseat with a quiet sigh. He gives the driver his address and leans his head back against the headrest. The shivers seem to get worse in the warmth of the cab and his teeth chatter loudly while he wraps his arms snugly around himself (around his baby, though he forces that thought roughly aside). The driver notices and turns up the heat without a word, casting worried glances through the rear-view mirror.</p>
<p>The ride is over quicker than he would have liked. The hum of the engine is just starting to lull him into a state of nothingness when the cab pulls up in front of his building. He opens his eyes and lifts his head from the seat back intending to tell the driver he just needs to run upstairs to grab some cash, when his eyes immediately fall to the LeMans that's parked in front of them, blatantly ignoring the 'No Parking' sign on the curb.</p>
<p>The driver leaves the car idling and looks back at Malcolm, waiting expectantly for him to move, but Malcolm just closes his eyes and drops his head back once again, debating the wisdom of asking the cab driver to circle the block a few times in hopes that Gil will be gone by the time he gets back. He's exhausted, physically and mentally, and he knows he doesn't have the strength to pull off slapping on a smile and pretending everything is fine.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, right as he opens his eyes and takes a breath to ask the driver to keep driving, the front door of his building swings open and Gil storms out, animatedly talking to someone on his phone. He marches to his car but does a double take when he sees Malcolm staring at him from the back of the taxi.</p>
<p>He's beside the cab before Malcolm has time to think of an escape plan, yanking the door open and dropping to a squat as his eyes sweep over Malcolm's form. Malcolm knows he probably looks wretched — sweat-soaked and tear stained and still visibly shivering, all of which is intensifying the worried look on Gil's face.</p>
<p>"Bright, are you okay?" The lingering fear is still evident in the man's voice. "When you didn't pick up even after I texted you the details of the case I got worried and decided to swing by."</p>
<p>Malcolm can't find the strength within himself to answer and just stares at Gil as he continues to explain his presence at Malcolm's apartment, to explain his unmistakable worry.</p>
<p>"I found your phone in about a thousand pieces, and noticed your wallet, watch, and keys were still on the nightstand but you weren't home. I thought something happened."</p>
<p><em>Something did happen</em>, he thinks to himself.</p>
<p>Gil reaches out tentatively and lays a warm hand on Malcolm's neck, giving the same comforting squeeze that Malcolm had envisioned earlier. The familiar gesture and the warmth behind the worry that's etched on Gil's face ignites a hot prickle at the back of Malcolm's eyes and he has to bite down hard on his lip to try and keep himself from crying.</p>
<p>It's a losing battle. A few tears slip out against his will and Gil's hand squeezes a little tighter as he whispers, "What happened, kid? Talk to me?"</p>
<p>The cab driver is graciously turning his head away from the display, trying to give the illusion of privacy but Malcolm is painfully aware of their audience and as much as he doesn't want to have this conversation to start with, he definitely doesn't want to do it in front of a stranger.</p>
<p>Gil seems to sense this and gives one last press to Malcolm's shoulder before he pulls out his wallet and asks the driver about the fare. He takes out enough cash to cover the ride and a generous tip and hands it over without a thought.</p>
<p>With the fare settled, Malcolm swings his legs out of the cab and tries to get to his feet, but he's shaking so hard that he can barely even manage. His body is ready to collapse and his emotional state isn't faring any better. Gil clasps a hand around his elbow to steady him, the concern already etched on his face sinking deeper as he feels Malcolm tremble beneath his hand.</p>
<p>"Steady there, city boy," Gil says gently, leading Malcolm to the door. It's slow going up the flights of stairs, and by the time they reach the top Malcolm is leaning heavily on Gil, letting him support his weight almost completely. At Gil's urging they head directly to Malcolm's bed and Gil helps lower him to sit on the edge of the mattress.</p>
<p>He feels himself shutting down, dissociating in a way he hasn't done since high school when he wasn't emotionally equipped to deal with everything that was happening in his life. He looks briefly up at Gil, tracking a flicker of recognition behind warm brown eyes. It's been a while, but they've done this dance before. There's a sadness in Gil's eyes that tightens the knot in Malcolm's stomach and he distantly feels terrible about making him worry, but that part of him is slowly fading away along with everything else.</p>
<p>Soft hands cradle his face and Gil tilts his head up to look him in the eye. "Malcolm, sweetheart, can you try to stay with me?"</p>
<p>Malcolm's trying, he really is but he's going numb and it's just so hard. He can barely feel Gil's hands on his face and his body feels like it's losing cohesion, ready to fade away.</p>
<p>"Malcolm, can you tell me five things you can see?" Gil says, quiet but firm.</p>
<p>It takes a moment for the words to filter in through the disparate fragments of his mind. Somewhere deep inside he recognizes what Gil is doing and knows that it can help. Despite everything that's going on, Gil still feels safe and he lets that feeling wash over him. His tongue is heavy and thick as he says "You."</p>
<p>"Yeah, Mal, I'm here," Gil offers a watery smile. "What else?"</p>
<p>He blinks several times before he can move his eyes away from Gil, looking over the man's shoulder. His gaze immediately lands on the birdcage hanging right next to the stairs. "Sunshine."</p>
<p>"That's good. What else?"</p>
<p>"Staircase."</p>
<p>Malcolm feels the listless slide into oblivion begin to drag and catch. It doesn't stop entirely, but he no longer feels like he's shutting down completely. His body is still tingly, wrong. Like it isn't his, like he's watching everything from someone else's eyes.</p>
<p>But it's not getting worse.</p>
<p>"Weapons," he offers without prompting and Gil smiles, rubbing his thumb lightly over Malcolm's cheekbone. "Barstool."</p>
<p>"You're doing so good," Gil keeps brushing his fingers over Malcolm's face, the sensation helping to ground him. "How about four things you can touch."</p>
<p>More than anything else, Gil's concern is pulling Malcolm back. He doesn't want to cause any additional distress. So he focuses and works on clawing his way back. He starts with the bed beneath his hands, soft and comfortable and covered with his luxury Egyptian cotton sheets.</p>
<p>"Bed."</p>
<p>The blanket is tangled up next to him and he moves his hand over an inch or so to run his fingers over it before bunching it in a loose grip. It's soft and familiar and he breathes out, "Blanket."</p>
<p>He's not quite there, not yet, but he suddenly realizes that the worst has passed and he's going to be okay. He takes a moment to feel Gil's warmth on his cheeks and breathe in the scent of the man in front of him, the man that is and always has been home to him, and he feels himself coming back.</p>
<p>Still a little shaky, he brings his hands up to wrap around Gil's forearms, the familiarity of the jacket beneath his fingers helping to settle him even deeper within his skin.</p>
<p>"You," he says again and slowly shifts his gaze from where it's trained on his hand as it strokes Gil's jacket, up to Gil's eyes, and he watches the relief flood the man's features when Gil recognizes that the worst has passed.</p>
<p>"There you are," Gil whispers. "Can I hold you?"</p>
<p>When Malcolm nods, Gil pushes himself up and sits next to Malcolm on the bed, wrapping his arm tightly across Malcolm's shoulders and tugging him up against his chest. Malcolm melts into the warmth and burrows into Gil's sweater, breathing in the spicy scent of his cologne and accepting the comfort that he's offering. He knows that their relationship is about to change drastically, and in case this is the last time that Gil ever holds him, he wants to soak it up and commit it to memory.</p>
<p>He brings a hand up beside his face and rests it lightly on Gil's chest, idly running his fingers over the soft sweater. God, he loves those sweaters.</p>
<p>They stay like that, wrapped in each other's arms, until Malcolm feels strong enough to pull away. Gil seems hesitant to let go but Malcolm can't help but think that it's not fair to Gil to let him hold him like that when there's something so decidedly life-altering waiting in the wings. Something that's going to change everything for both of them.</p>
<p>He doesn't doubt, even for a second, that Gil will care for the child. The man is dependable and unwavering in his support and dedication to others; Malcolm knows this first hand. The child will be lucky to have Gil in its life.</p>
<p>The real question is if Gil will still want <em>Malcolm</em> in his life. It might just break him if the answer is no, but, he decides, it's better to find out now than to spend the next few months attempting to hide the pregnancy while silently agonizing about it alone.</p>
<p>"Let me grab a shower. Then we can talk." Malcolm can't quite bring himself to meet Gil's eyes as he says it, looking instead at his chest where his head had just been resting, where his hand is still idly stroking the soft fabric, impressing the tactile sensation on his memory.</p>
<p>Gil gives Malcolm's shoulder a squeeze, "Whatever you need, kid."</p>
<p>Malcolm quickly pads to the bathroom and lets the door seal him in with a quiet <em>snick</em>, his thoughts whirling and swirling and refusing to settle as he leans back against the door. As soon as he catches his reflection in the mirror, though, those thoughts grind to a (temporary) halt. He looks awful; his skin is pale and clammy except where it's red and blotchy from the tears that had been falling all morning, and his hair is greasy and lank from his impromptu run, pressed flat against his head.</p>
<p>As hard as he's trying to ignore it, his traitorous eyes drop down to his stomach and he finds himself slowly lifting the hem of his shirt. There's nothing, of course, but he swears he can already see the beginning of a pooch and turns away in disgust.</p>
<p>Intellectually, he's aware that he's considered attractive. And he certainly doesn't need to be a profiler to know that Gil is physically attracted to him; the way his pupils dilate when he sees Malcolm, the smiles and touches he offers so freely, the fact that they have enthusiastic sex on a regular basis, it all leaves no doubt that Gil is drawn to him.</p>
<p>But Malcolm's body is about to change. A lot. And he already knows that it's going to hurt when Gil stops looking at him with lust in his eyes.</p>
<p>With a frown, he turns from the mirror and strips out of his sweaty clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor to deal with later. He blasts the water as hot as he can stand it and steps into the shower, letting the scorching water sluice over his skin, embracing the burning prickle of the too-hot streams over his body. With a silent determination, he soaps himself up from head to toe to wash away the morning, methodically scrubbing every inch of skin, averting his eyes from his reflection in the mirror every time his head turns that direction. He's not ready to deal with <em>that</em> on top of everything else.</p>
<p>He stays in the shower longer than is strictly necessary, but eventually realizes he can't delay the inevitable any longer. He turns off the water with a sigh and quickly dries off, only realizing as he finishes that he didn't bring any clothes with him and he'll need to leave the bathroom in just his towel to get something to wear. He's oddly self-conscious about Gil seeing him nearly naked, even if there's no obvious signs of the baby he's carrying.</p>
<p>Their baby.</p>
<p>Shoulders back and head held high, he opens the door and makes his way to the walk-in closet, not even stopping to look for Gil. And if he sucks in his stomach a little as he walks, just to be safe, no one knows it but him.</p>
<p>In a matter of minutes he's fully dressed, foregoing his usual suit in favour of a more casual pair of trousers and a charcoal grey button down, knowing Gil won't be asking him to the crime scene today (<em>or maybe ever again</em>, a vicious voice in the back of his mind comments). A few deep breaths in the privacy of his closet and he's as ready as he's ever going to be.</p>
<p>It's not hard to find Gil. Unsurprisingly, he's in the kitchen, making coffee and scrambled eggs with toast. It's nearly lunchtime, but Gil's obviously decided that Malcolm needs his comfort food. It's one of the few meals he could consistently keep down after his father's arrest, when eating became an uphill battle that he struggled against every day, losing more often than he won. But he does have many fond memories of Gil or Jackie standing at the stove top, frying this very meal up with a smile on their face, just for him, whether he managed to eat it or not.</p>
<p>It still makes him feel safe and loved whenever Gil cooks it for him.</p>
<p>He pulls up a stool at the breakfast bar and watches silently as Gil prepares their plates, scraping a heap of scrambled eggs onto both and then buttering up the toast — two pieces for Gil and one for Malcolm — before bringing the plates over and taking a seat beside him.</p>
<p>Malcolm pushes the eggs around with his fork but can't stomach the idea of actually eating it. He can feel Gil casting worried glances his way as he digs into his own food, but every time Malcolm brings a forkful to his lips, his stomach twists and rolls and reminds him of the secret that's growing inside of him and he winds up placing his fork back down, food untouched.</p>
<p>Gil is nearly half done with his plate before Malcolm works up the nerve to speak.</p>
<p>"We need to talk." He says it to his eggs. There's a weight that's building in his chest and he doesn't think that he can stand to look at Gil's face when he tells him.</p>
<p>"Okay. Whatever it is, you know I'm here for you," Gil says earnestly.</p>
<p>Malcolm huffs out a breath but doesn't respond to the statement.</p>
<p>"I, uh. I'm pregnant."</p>
<p>There's a moment of stunned silence. Malcolm can feel Gil's gaze on him but he can't seem to drag his own eyes away from the cooling plate of eggs. When he finally works up the courage to look over at Gil, bracing himself for the worst, he's taken completely aback.</p>
<p>He expects to see anger, disgust. All morning he's been terrified that he was going to see hatred behind Gil's warm brown eyes at the news. But when he finally sneaks a glance at Gil, he's…smiling.</p>
<p>"We're—," Gil's voice is hushed, reverent. "We're gonna be daddies?" There's so much love in the question that the knot that's been twisting and wringing inside of Malcolm all morning loosens just a little and Malcolm's not entirely sure what to do with all the oxygen that seems to flood into his lungs.</p>
<p>He's staring at Gil wide-eyed, mouth slightly agape, not quite comprehending. Gil, of course, notices right away and hurries to rein in his enthusiasm.</p>
<p>"Or do you not…I mean, I know you never thought you'd be a parent, but…" Gil stumbles as he speaks, obviously trying to ask something but having trouble finding the words to say it. He takes a deep breath and starts fresh. "Look, Bright, it's your body and your decision. But just so you know, I would just...God, I would love to have this baby with you."</p>
<p>Malcolm is blinking vacantly, trying to process his words and failing miserably. Gil takes his reaction as a negative and hurries to expand.</p>
<p>"I know you don't want a more serious relationship, and that's okay, kid. Whatever you want <em>us</em> to be is fine by me, there's no pressure. But no matter what you decide, I'm sure we can find a way to make it work with a baby." Ever practical, Gil is already working logistics, but Malcolm is caught on the start of that sentence, like a broken record that's skipping and repeating the same words over and over. "We could figure out a schedule, maybe alternate weeks or if you want to—"</p>
<p>"<em>I</em> don't want a more serious relationship?"</p>
<p>It's clearly a question but Gil's face drops a little, some of the enthusiasm bleeding away as he responds as if it were a statement. "I know, Bright. And I meant what I said. It's all good."</p>
<p>Malcolm spins on the stool to face Gil fully and stops him with a hand on his arm. "Gil, what do you mean <em>I</em> don't want something more serious?"</p>
<p>Gil looks at him, clearly confused. "You've been sending some pretty clear signals about keeping this physical, kid. Every time I offer to take you out you seem to find a reason to say no. I took the hint long ago, and it's fine. I know with the age difference, with our history...I'm not looking to tie you down. All I've ever wanted is what's best for you, Bright."</p>
<p>Malcolm feels laughter swelling and bubbling in his chest, and it's not the good kind. It's the hysterical kind that overflows until it consumes everything and leaves nothing behind. He slaps a hand over his mouth to hold it back. The day has been an emotional rollercoaster and he's having trouble keeping himself under control at this latest drop.</p>
<p>Gil's eyebrows are drawn as he looks at him with concern. More concern than usual.</p>
<p>Malcolm closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Thinking about it, he decides that things can't possibly get any weirder, so why not just put everything on the line? It feels a bit like pulling the pin on a grenade and just setting it casually between them, but he's been wrong about a number of things today and he knows he'll always regret it if he doesn't say it now.</p>
<p>"I'm in love with you."</p>
<p>He keeps his eyes closed. He may have screwed up the courage to finally say it out loud, but that doesn't mean he's ready to see Gil's reaction in case he has it all wrong. If Gil's eyes fill with pity, or if Malcolm unintentionally picks up indicators of rejection from the microexpressions on his face, he'd never be able to keep going. And since he's already admitted the worst of it, he figures he might as well push through and confess it all.</p>
<p>"I've been in love with you since before I applied to Quantico. And yes, I know that's wildly inappropriate considering that you were married and I was so young and things between us were…complicated. But I fell in love with you all the same, because you were kind and strong and loyal and incredibly attractive, and you'd always been supportive of me, through the nightmares and the therapy and the bullying."</p>
<p>And now that he's started he couldn't stop if he wanted to. Everything that he's been keeping bottled up inside for all these years comes flooding out in a torrent of words that's threatening to wash him away.</p>
<p>He licks his lips and keeps talking before Gil has a chance to interrupt.</p>
<p>"I never planned on saying anything. At first because of Jackie, because I loved her, too, and I felt like I was betraying her just by having those feelings about you, and then after she passed you were grieving, and I know there's no way that I could ever replace her, Gil, and honestly I would never want to try. And then this thing, whatever it is, happened between us. But I'm out of practice with relationships. I thought that this was just something to pass the time for you, and that's fine if it is, but when you would ask me out for dinner it just seemed more real, and I couldn't give myself to you knowing that you couldn't love me back so I—"</p>
<p>Gil's mouth swallows whatever he was about to say next, lips pressing softly against his own. Malcolm's eyes shoot open in surprise but he tentatively kisses him back, granting the man access to his mouth when Gil's tongue swipes across the seam of his lips. They lean into each other, Gil's hands coming up to cup Malcolm's face as their tongues perform their familiar dance.</p>
<p>Somehow, though, everything feels different.</p>
<p>When they finally pull apart, Gil keeps a gentle hold of Malcolm's face, leaning their foreheads together as his thumbs absently stroke along his cheekbones, taking a moment to breathe in each other's presence. Malcolm runs his tongue over his lips, a tingle shooting down his spine as he still tastes Gil there, and he breathes out a contented sigh. When he pulls back enough to finally look at him, as Gil releases his hold on Malcolm and drops his hands to his lap, Malcolm is horrified to see tears glistening in Gil's eyes.</p>
<p>"Gil," he says, reaching out to brush away the stray tear that had gotten away. "Shit, I'm sorry."</p>
<p>"Kid, did that kiss feel like something that needs an apology?" Gil asks as a small smile quirks his lips. "Malcolm, I love you, too."</p>
<p>Malcolm's breath leaves him all at once and he stares at Gil in disbelief. He's trying to get the profiler part of his brain to kick back in, to read Gil's expressions for signs of dishonesty, but he realizes that he really doesn't even need that. Because he knows Gil. And he knows he would never lie to him, not about this.</p>
<p>And suddenly Gil's excitement about the baby makes a little more sense.</p>
<p>Malcolm's going to need some time to process everything. He can't quite comprehend the fact that Gil could possibly be in love with him, or understand how he isn't having a nervous breakdown about the news of a baby. But for the time being, he knows that Gil doesn't hate him for it, and that's enough.</p>
<p>Gil has been waiting patiently while Malcolm completely phases out at the declaration. When Malcolm finally blinks a few times and looks at Gil, pulling himself out of the labyrinth of his own head, there's an adoring smile waiting for him on Gil's lips.</p>
<p>Malcolm gives his head a shake and smiles shyly at Gil.</p>
<p>"Sorry. This day has been...intense...and I'm a little bit all over the place." Malcolm says, embarrassed, but Gil just reaches out and grasps both of Malcolm's hands to give a comforting squeeze. "I, uh, this is all very unexpected."</p>
<p>"But good?" Gil asks hopefully.</p>
<p>"As far as us being in love with one another? That's, um, that's more than good." Malcolm is oddly bashful, considering he's carrying the man's baby. But this — love — is new territory for him. "The baby…"</p>
<p>He trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Gil seems so excited, an undercurrent of joy flowing through him at the news, and Malcolm doesn't want to take that away from him. But he needs to let Gil know that he <em>can't</em> be a father to this child. He isn't safe.</p>
<p>"Bright," Gil says quietly, still holding Malcolm's hands, a lifeline that's keeping him from drifting away into the storm of terrified thoughts that are waiting for him. "Can you try something for me?"</p>
<p><em>Anything</em>, Malcolm thinks to himself. He nods in response.</p>
<p>"Can you try, just for a minute, to ignore the voices in your head that are telling you that you can't do this?" Gil presses on, even as Malcolm looks at him in wide-eyed shock, "Ignore, just for a minute, Martin's voice that's telling you you're just like him?"</p>
<p>The fact that Gil perfectly understands Malcolm's internal monologue without even asking what he's thinking is equal parts terrifying and reassuring. The warmth that settles in his chest, though, tells him that 'reassuring' is likely to win that battle.</p>
<p>He's just not sure that he can do what Gil is asking.</p>
<p>"Just for a minute," Gil reiterates, like he's reading Malcolm's thoughts. "And ignoring all of that, do you want this? A family? With me?"</p>
<p>It takes a moment to relegate the screaming voices in his head to a tiny compartment in the back of his mind and slam the reinforced steel door on them. Once he does, though, there's not even a question.</p>
<p>Of course he wants that.</p>
<p>"Yeah, Gil, of course I do. But that doesn't change the reality of the situation," Malcolm sighs, pulling one of his hands from Gil's to scrub over his face. "I'm a disaster of a human being and I <em>am</em> Martin Whitly's son. That's not going to disappear just because I want it to."</p>
<p>"You're not a disaster, kid," Gil says, sadness creasing his features at the realization that Malcolm views himself that way. "God, you have such a pure heart and you're a good man, Malcolm. I wish I could make you see that."</p>
<p>Malcolm wants to argue but then Gil is tugging him forward, wrapping him up in strong arms that feel like they could maybe hold all of his broken pieces together, if he let them.</p>
<p>"I love you, Bright," Gil whispers against his hair. "And knowing that you want this is enough for now. We'll figure this out as we go, I promise."</p>
<p>Safe in Gil's arms, Malcolm can almost believe that to be true.</p>
<p>More than that, he <em>wants</em> to believe it. For the first time in his adult life, he wants something healthy for himself. He wants this life with Gil and their unborn child. He wants a family of his own.</p>
<p>And he's starting to realize that maybe, just maybe, he can actually have it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to KateSamantha for looking this one over months and months ago.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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